I sharpen the pencil in idle form Tarrying to catch the heart that flutter Like the butterfly in flight in storm Yet my mind is held in stupor So I sit here and think of a word A word, or just a word or two That I could scribe in bold To express my love for you With an exhale of my sigh aloud A flicker of flame on candle locks Threatened the darkness to loud And compass the room with dark flocks As I take up a pen to write my fret My love, the pain ye have born in me But as felt-tip to paper I dare to set Words of sort dash to hide from me But alas they be hid of me the man Who’d have wrought ye a canvas Hath the silver of tongues be’n with me For fear the letter be shallow of what I felt for thee Love I say to thee like ones’ love for breath Precious as the opals and gems but precious more Dear as the drowning mans wishes to breathe Cherished as the child’s innocence that snores I most of my time to this letter relish wit’ut adieu For I am but not sure of your reprove clause So I bide my time to the point in time and pause To reflect and stay the moment in my iris door In dream of this wake, with ripples of it warped I lay a smile in its make of the thoughts arisen Of your eyes if I am asked Subtle brown, the hue of gold Radiant as the Lilacs blush Dappled in a shade of blue But these are but words of a troubled mind no more nor less, but wanting something more Wrought mayhap to snare your heart with its limbo So to settle the score in words I try grab The words of lore in ages past I must again ensue Free of thoughtful conjunctions and phrase Prose of words and artful facts its hold not in use But it doth reach the want in my breast that’s born The simple words that spring in tongues o’ lovers gone Sweetest sonnet of them all, is the breath of, ‘I Love You’